Читать книгу Expecting the Earl's Baby - Jessica Gilmore - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

SEB DIDN’T EXACTLY expect Daisy to throw herself at his feet in gratitude, not really. And it would have made him uncomfortable if she had. But he was expecting that she would be touched by his proposal. Grateful even.

The incredulous laugh that bubbled out of that rather enchanting mouth was, therefore, a bit of a shock. Almost a blow—not to his heart, obviously, but, he realised with a painful jolt of self-awareness, to his ego. ‘Are we in a regency novel? Seb, you haven’t besmirched my honour. There’s no need to do the honourable thing.’

The emphasis on the last phrase was scathing. And misplaced. There was every need. ‘So why did you come here? I thought you wanted my help. Or are you after money? Is that it?’

Maybe the whole situation was some kind of clever entrapment. His hands curled into fists and he inhaled, long and deep, trying not to let the burgeoning anger show on his face.

‘Of course not.’ Her indignation was convincing and the tightness in his chest eased a little. ‘I thought you should know first, that was all. I didn’t come here for money or marriage or anything.’

‘I see, you’re planning to do this alone. And you want me to what? Pop over on a Sunday and take the baby to the park? Sleepovers once a month?’ Seb could hear the scathing scorn punctuating each of his words and Daisy paled, taking a nervous step away, her hand fumbling for the car handle.

‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead.’

Seb took another deep breath, doing his best to sound reasonable as he grabbed the slight advantage. ‘You work what? Fifteen hours a day at weekends? Not just weekends. People get married every day of the week now. What are you going to do for childcare?’

‘I’ll work something out.’ The words were defiant but her eyes were troubled as she twisted her hand around the handle, her knuckles white with tension.

He put as much conviction into his voice as possible. ‘You don’t need to. Marry me.’

Her eyes were wide with confusion. ‘Why? Why on earth would you want to marry someone you barely know? Why would I agree to something so crazy?’

Seb gestured, a wide encompassing sweep of his arm taking in the lake, the woods and fields, the castle proudly overshadowing the landscape. ‘Because that baby is my heir.’

Daisy stared at him. ‘What?’

‘The baby is my heir,’ he repeated. ‘Our baby. To Hawksley.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. What has the castle got to do with the baby?’

‘Not just the castle, the estate, the title, everything.’

‘But—’ she shook her head stubbornly ‘—you’re the handyman, aren’t you? You had a shovel and a fleece and that office.’

‘The handyman?’ He could see her point. If only his colleagues could see him now, it was all a long way from his quiet office tucked away in a corner of an Oxford college. ‘In a way I guess I am—owner, handyman, manager, event-booker—running the estate is a hands-on job nowadays.’

‘So that makes you what? A knight?’

‘An earl. The Earl of Holgate.’

‘An earl?’ She laughed, slightly hysterically. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Is there a camera recording this?’ She twisted around, checking the fields behind them.

‘My parents died six months ago. I inherited the castle then.’ The castle and a huge amount of debt but there was no need to mention that right away. She was skittish enough as it was.

‘You’re being serious?’ He could see realisation dawning, the understanding in her widened eyes even as she stubbornly shook her head. ‘Titles don’t mean anything, not any more.’

‘They do to me, to the estate. Look, Daisy, you came here because you knew it was the right thing to do. Well, marrying me is the right thing to do. That baby could be the next Earl of Holgate. You want to deny him that right? Illegitimate children are barred from inheriting.’

‘The baby could be a girl.’ She wasn’t giving in easily.

‘It doesn’t matter, with the royal line of succession no longer male primogeniture there’s every chance the rest of the aristocracy will fall into line.’ He held his hand out, coaxing. ‘Daisy, come back inside, let’s talk about this sensibly.’

She didn’t answer for a long moment and he could sense her quivering, desperate need to run. He didn’t move, just waited, hand held out towards her until she took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I’ll come inside. To talk about the baby. But I am not marrying you. I don’t care whether you’re an earl or a handyman. I don’t know you.’

Seb took a deep breath, relief filling his lungs. All he needed was time. Time for her to hear him out, to give him a chance to convince her. ‘Come on, then.’

Daisy pushed off the car and turned. Seb couldn’t help taking a long appreciative look at her shapely rear as she bent slightly to relock the car. The tweed shorts fitted snugly, showing off her slender curves to perfection. He tore his eyes away, hurriedly focusing on the far hedge as she straightened and turned to join him, the blue eyes alight with curiosity.

‘An earl,’ she repeated. ‘No wonder the gorgon was so reluctant to let me in.’

‘Gorgon?’ But he knew who she meant and his mouth quirked as she stared at him meaningfully. ‘I don’t think she’s actually turned anyone to stone. Not yet. Mrs Suffolk’s family have worked here for generations. She’s a little protective.’

They reached the courtyard and Daisy started to make for the back door where Mrs Suffolk still stood guard, protecting the castle against day trippers and other invaders. Seb slipped a hand through Daisy’s arm, guiding her round the side of the house and onto the sweeping driveway with its vista down to the wooded valley below.

‘Front door and a fresh start,’ he said as they reached the first step. ‘Hello, I’m Sebastian Beresford, Earl of Holgate.’

‘Sebastian Beresford?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know that name. You’re not an earl, you’re that historian.’

‘I’m both. Even earls have careers nowadays.’ Although how he was going to continue his academic responsibilities with running Hawksley was a problem he had yet to solve.

He held out his hand. ‘Welcome to my home.’

Daisy stared at his hand for a moment before placing her cool hand in his. ‘Daisy Huntingdon-Cross, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Who? There it was, that faint elusive memory sharpened into focus. ‘Huntingdon-Cross? Rick Cross and Sherry Huntingdon’s daughter?’

No wonder she looked familiar! Rock royalty on their father’s side and pure county on their mother’s, the Huntingdon-Cross sisters were as renowned for their blonde, leggy beauty as they were infamous for their lifestyle. Each of them had been splashed across the tabloids at some point in their varied careers—and their parents were legends; rich, talented and famously in love.

Seb’s heart began to pound, painfully thumping against his chest, the breath knocked from his lungs in one blow. This was not the plan, the quiet, businesslike, private union he intended.

This was trouble.

If he married this girl then the tabloids would have a field day. A Beresford and a Huntingdon-Cross would be front-page fodder to rival anything his parents had managed to stir up in their wake. All the work he had done to remain out of the press would be undone faster than he could say, ‘I do.’

But if he didn’t marry her then he would be disinheriting the baby. He didn’t have any choice.

* * *

Seb froze as he took her hand, recognition dawning in his eyes.

‘Huntingdon-Cross,’ he repeated and Daisy dropped his hand, recoiling from the horror in his voice.

For a moment she contemplated pretending she wasn’t one of those Huntingdon-Crosses but a cousin, a far, far removed cousin. From the north. Of course, Seb didn’t have to know that she didn’t have any northern cousins.

But what was the point? He’d find out the truth soon enough and, besides, they might be wild and infuriating and infamous but they were hers. No matter how many titles or illustrious ancestors Seb had, he had no right to sneer at her family.

Daisy channelled her mother at her grandest, injecting as much froideur into her voice as she possibly could and tilting her chin haughtily. ‘Yes. I’m the youngest. I believe the tabloids call me the former wild child if that helps.’

At this the green eyes softened and the corner of his mouth tilted; heat pooled in her stomach as her blood rushed in response. It was most unfair, the almost smile made him more human. More handsome.

More desirable.

‘The one who got expelled from school?’

He had to bring that up. Daisy’s face heated, the embarrassed flush spreading from her cheeks to her neck. He was an Oxford professor, he’d probably never met anyone who had been expelled before, let alone someone with barely an academic qualification to her name. ‘I wasn’t expelled exactly, they just asked me to leave.’

‘Sounds like expulsion to me,’ he murmured.

‘It was ridiculously strict. It was almost impossible not to get expelled. Unless you were clever and studious like my sisters, that is.’ Okay, it was eight years ago and Daisy had spent every minute of those eight years trying to prove her teachers wrong but it still rankled. Still hurt.

‘The Mother Superior was always looking for a way to rid the school of the dullards like me. That way we didn’t bring the exam average down.’ She stared at him, daring him to react. He’d probably planned for the mother of his future children to have a batch of degrees to match his. His and her mortar boards.

‘They expelled you for not being academic?’

‘Well, not exactly. They expelled me for breaking bounds and going clubbing in London. But if I’d been predicted all As it would have been a slap on the wrist at the most. At least, probably,’ she added, conscious she wasn’t being entirely fair. ‘There were pictures on the front page of The Planet and I think some of the parents were a little concerned.’

‘A little?’ Damn, the mouth was even more tilted now, the gleam intensifying in his eyes.

‘I was sixteen. Most sixteen-year-old girls aren’t locked away in stupid convent schools not even allowed to look at boys or wear anything but a hideous uniform. It isn’t natural. But once front-page news, always front-page news. They hounded me for a bit until they realised how dull I really am. But I swear I could die at one hundred after a lifetime spent sewing smocks for orphaned lepers and my epitaph would read “Former wild child, Daisy, who was expelled from exclusive girls’ school...”’

‘Probably.’ His voice was bleak again, the gleam gone as if it had never been there. ‘Come on, let’s go in. It’s getting cold and one of us has unseasonably bare legs.’

Once the sun had started to set, the warmth quickly dissipated, the evening air tinted with a sharp breeze whipping around Daisy’s legs. She shivered, the chill running up her arms and down her spine not entirely down to the cold. If she walked back into the castle everything would change.

But everything was changing anyway. Would it be easier if she didn’t have to do this alone? It wasn’t the proposal or the marriage of her dreams but maybe it was time to grow up. To accept that fairy tales were for children and that princes came in all shapes and sizes—as did earls.

Not that Seb’s shape was an issue. She slid a glance over at him, allowing her eyes to run up his legs, the worn jeans clinging to his strong thighs and the slim hips, and up his torso, his lean muscled strength hidden by the shirt and fleece. But her body remembered the way he had picked her up without flinching, the play of his muscles under her hands.

No, his shape wasn’t an issue.

But she had worked so hard to be independent. Not traded on her parents’ names, not depended on their money. Would marrying for support, albeit emotional not financial, be any different from accepting it from her family?

At least she knew they loved her. A marriage without love wasn’t to be considered. Not for her. She needed to make that clear so that they could move on and decide what was best for the baby.

* * *

‘Where’s the cook? The faithful retainers? The maids’ bobbing curtsies?’ Daisy expected that they would return to the library but instead Seb had led her through the baize doors and back through the tangle of passages to the kitchen. She would need a ball of thread to find her way back.

The whole house was a restoration project waiting to happen and the kitchen no exception but Daisy quite liked the old wooden cabinets, the ancient Aga and Monty slumped in front of it with his tail beating a steady rhythm on the flagstone floor. It didn’t take much imagination to see the ghosts of small scullery maids, scuttling out into the adjoining utility room, an apple-cheeked cook rolling out pastry on the marbled worktops. Automatically she framed it, her mind selecting the right filter and the focal point of the shot.

Any of Daisy’s friends would strip out the cabinets, install islands and breakfast bars and folding doors opening out into the courtyard—undoubtedly creating something stunning. And yet the kitchen would lose its heart, its distinctive soul.

Seb gestured to a low chair by the Aga. ‘Do you want to sit there? It’s the warmest spot in the room. No, there’s no one else, just me. A cleaner comes in daily but I live alone.’ He had opened a door that led to a pantry bigger than Daisy’s entire kitchen. ‘Are you vegetarian?’

‘For a term in Year Eleven.’

‘Good. Anything you...erm...really want to eat?’ He sounded flustered and, as realisation dawned, her cheeks heated in tandem with his. It was going to be uncomfortable if neither of them could mention the pregnancy without embarrassment.

‘Oh! You mean cravings? No, at least, not yet. But if I get a need for beetroot and coal risotto I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.’

The green eyes flashed. ‘You do that.’

Daisy didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she was tired. It had been a long week, excitement mixing with shock, happiness with worry and sleep had been elusive. It was soothing leaning back in the chair, the warmth from the Aga penetrating her bones. Monty rested his head on her feet as she watched Seb expertly chopping onions and grilling steaks.

‘From the estate farm,’ he said as he heated the oil. ‘I’m pretty much self-sufficient, well, thanks to the tenant farmers I am.’

Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room but the word was reverberating round and round her head. Marriage.

Was this what it would be like? Cosy evenings in the kitchen? Rocking in a chair by the fire while Seb cooked. Maybe she should take up knitting.

‘Did you mean what you said earlier, in the library? That marriage is a business?’

He didn’t turn round but she saw his shoulders set rigid, the careless grace gone as he continued to sauté the vegetables.

‘Absolutely. It’s the only way it works.’

‘Why?’

Seb stopped stirring and shot her a quick glance.

‘What do you mean?’

Daisy was leaning back in the chair, her eyes half closed. His eyes flickered over her. The bright waistcoat, the hat and the lipstick were at odd with her pallor; she was pale, paler than he would have expected even at the end of a long, cold winter and the shadows under her eyes were a deep blue-grey. She looked exhausted. A primal protectiveness as unexpected as it was fierce rose up in him, almost overwhelming in its intensity. It wasn’t what he wanted, the path he had chosen, but this was his responsibility; she was his responsibility.

She probably deserved better, deserved more than he could offer. But this was all he had.

‘Why do you think that?’

Seb took a moment before answering, quickly plating up the steaks and tipping the sautéed vegetables into a dish and putting it onto the table. He added a loaf of bread and a pat of butter and grabbed two steak knives and forks.

‘Come and sit at the table,’ he said. ‘We can talk afterwards.’

It was like being on a first date. Worse, a blind date. A blind date where you suddenly lost all sense of speech, thought and taste. Was this his future? Sitting at a table with this woman, struggling for things to say?

‘My grandparents ate every meal in the dining hall, even when it was just the two of them,’ he said after a long, excruciating pause. ‘Grandfather at the head of the table, grandmother at the foot. Even with the leaves taken out the table seats thirty.’

She put down her fork and stared at him. ‘Could they hear each other?’

‘They both had penetrating voices, although I don’t know if they were natural or whether they developed them after fifty years of yelling at each other across fifteen foot of polished mahogany.’ He half smiled, remembering their stubborn determination to keep to the ritual formality of their youth as the world changed around them.

‘And what about your parents? Did they dispense with the rules and eat in here or did they like the distance?’

‘Ah, my parents. It appears my parents spent most of their lives living wildly beyond their means. If I can’t find a way to make Hawksley pay for itself within the next five years...’ His voice trailed off. He couldn’t articulate his worst fears: that he would be the Beresford who lost Hawksley Castle.

‘Hence the handyman gig?’

‘Hence the handyman gig. And the leave of absence from the university and hiring the hall out for weddings. It’s a drop in the ocean but it’s a start.’

‘You need my sisters. Rose is in New York but she’s a PR whizz and Violet is the most managing person I have ever met. I bet they could come up with a plan to save Hawksley.’

He needed more than a plan. He needed a miracle. ‘My grandparents followed the rules all their lives. They looked after the estate, the people who lived on it. Lived up to their responsibilities. My parents were the opposite. They didn’t spend much time here. Unless they were throwing a party. They preferred London, or the Caribbean. Hawksley was a giant piggy bank, not a responsibility.’

Her eyes softened. ‘What happened?’

‘You must have read about them?’ He pushed his half-empty plate away, suddenly sickened. ‘If your parents are famous for their rock-solid marriage, mine were famous for their wildness— drugs, affairs, exotic holidays. They were always on the front pages. They divorced twice, remarried twice, each time in some ridiculous extravagant way. The first time they made me a pageboy. The second time I refused to attend.’ He took a swig of water, his mouth dry.

It was awful, the resentment mixed with grief. When would it stop being so corrosive?

‘Yes, now I remember. I’m so sorry. It was a plane crash, wasn’t it?’

‘They had been told it wasn’t safe but the rules didn’t apply to them. Or so they thought.’

Daisy pushed her seat back and stood up, collecting up the plates and waving away his offer of help. ‘No, you cooked, I’ll clear.’

He sat for a moment and watched as she competently piled the dishes and saucepans up by the side of the sink, rinsing the plates. He had to make it clear to her, make sure she knew exactly what he was offering. ‘Marriage is a business.’

Daisy carried on rinsing, running hot water into the old ceramic sink. ‘Once, perhaps...’

‘I have to marry, have children, there are no other direct heirs and there’s a danger the title will go extinct if I don’t. But I don’t want...’ He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, willing his pulse to stay calm. ‘I won’t have all the emotional craziness that comes with romantic expectations.’

She put the dishcloth down and turned, leaning against the sink as she regarded him. ‘Seb, your parents, they weren’t normal, you do know that? That level of drama isn’t usual.’

He laughed. ‘They were extreme, sure. But abnormal? They just didn’t hide it the way the rest of the world does. I look at my friends, their parents. Sure, it’s all hearts and flowers and nicknames at the beginning but I’ve lost count of how many relationships, how many marriages turn into resentment and betrayal and anger. No, maybe my ancestors knew what they were doing with a businesslike arrangement—compatibility, rules, peace.’

‘My parents love each other even more than they did when they got married.’ A wistful smile curved Daisy’s lips. ‘Sometimes it’s like it’s just the two of them even when we’re all there. They just look at each other and you can tell that at that moment it’s like there’s no one else in the room.’

‘And how do you feel at those moments?’

Her eyelashes fluttered down. ‘It can be a little lonely but...’

Exactly! Strengthened by her concession he carried on, his voice as persuasive as he could manage. ‘Look, Daisy. There’s no point me promising you romance because I don’t believe in it. I can promise you respect, hopefully affection. I can promise that if we do this, become parents together, then I will love the baby and do my utmost to be the best parent I can.’

‘I hope you will. But we don’t need to be married to co-parent.’

‘No,’ he conceded.

‘I’ve worked really hard to be my own person, build up my own business.’ The blue eyes hardened. ‘I don’t depend on anyone.’

‘But it’s not just going to be you any more, is it?’

‘I’ll cope, I’ll make sure I do. And not wanting to marry you doesn’t mean that I don’t want you in the baby’s life. I’m here, aren’t I?’

Seb sat back, a little nonplussed. His title and the castle had always meant he had enjoyed interest from a certain type of woman—and with his academic qualifications and the bestselling history books he was becomingly increasingly well known for appealed to a different type. To be honest he hadn’t expected he’d have to convince anyone to marry him—he had, admittedly a little arrogantly, just expected that he would make his choice and that would be it.

Apparently Daisy hadn’t got that memo.

Not that there was a reason for her to; she hadn’t been raised to run a home like Hawksley, nor was she an academic type looking to become a college power couple.

‘If you won’t marry me then the baby will be illegitimate—I know.’ He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to interrupt. ‘I know that doesn’t mean anything any more. But for me that’s serious. I need an heir—and if the baby isn’t legitimate it doesn’t inherit. How will he or she feel, Daisy, if I marry someone else and they see a younger sibling inherit?’

Her face whitened. ‘You’d do that?’

‘If I had a younger brother then, no. But I’m the last of my family. I don’t have any choice.’

‘What if I can’t do it?’ Daisy was twisting her hands together. ‘What if it’s not enough for me?’ She turned and picked the dishcloth back up. Her back was a little hunched, as if she were trying to keep her emotions in.

‘It’s a lot to give up, Seb. I always wanted what my parents have, to meet someone who completes me, who I complete.’ She huffed out a short laugh. ‘I know it’s sentimental but when you grow up seeing that...’

‘Just give it a go.’ Seb was surprised by how much he wanted, needed her to say yes—and not just because of the child she carried, not just because she could solve the whole heir issue and provide the stability he needed to turn the castle’s fortunes around.

But they were the important reasons and Seb ruthlessly pushed aside the memory of that night, the urge to reach out and touch her, to run a finger along those long, bare legs. ‘If it doesn’t work out or if you’re unhappy I won’t stop you leaving.’

‘Divorce?’ Her voice caught on the word and her back seemed to shrink inwards.

‘Leave that.’ He stood up and took the dishcloth from her unresisting hand, tilting her chin until she looked up at him, her eyes cloudy. ‘If you wanted then yes, an amicable, friendly divorce. I hope you’ll give it a real try though, promise me five years at least.’

That was a respectable amount of time; the family name had been dragged through the mud enough.

‘I don’t know.’ She stepped back, away from his touch, and he dropped his empty hand, the silk of her skin imprinted on his fingertips. ‘Getting married with a get-out clause seems wrong.’

‘All marriages have a get-out clause. Look.’ Seb clenched his hands. He was losing her. In a way he was impressed; he thought the title and castle was inducement enough for most women.

It was time for the big guns.

‘This isn’t about us. It’s about our child. His future. We owe it to him to be responsible, to do the right thing for him.’

‘Or her.’

‘Or her.’

Thoughts were whirling around in Daisy’s brain, a giant tangled skein of them. She was so tired, her limbs heavy, her shoulders slumping under the decision she was faced with.

But she was going to be a mother. What did she think that meant? All pushing swings and ice creams on the beach? She hadn’t thought beyond the birth, hadn’t got round to figuring out childcare and working long days on sleepless nights. It would be good to have someone else involved. Not someone she was dependent on but someone who was as invested in the baby as she was.

And if he didn’t marry her he would marry elsewhere. That should make it easier to turn him down. But it showed how committed he was.

What would she tell people? That she’d messed up again? She’d worked so hard to put her past behind her. The thought of confessing the truth to her family sent her stomach into complicated knots. How could she admit to her adoring parents and indulgent sisters that she was pregnant after a one-night stand—but don’t worry, she was getting married?

It wasn’t the whirlwind marriage part that would send her parents into a tailspin. After all, they had known each other for less than forty-eight hours when they had walked into that Las Vegas chapel. It was the businesslike arrangement that they would disapprove of.

But maybe they didn’t have to know...

‘How would it work?’

He didn’t hesitate. ‘Family first, Hawksley second. Discretion always. I’m a private person, no magazines invited in to coo over our lovely home, no scandalous headlines.’

That made sense. A welcome kind of sense. Publicity ran through her family’s veins; it would be nice to step away from that.

But her main question was still unvoiced, still unanswered. She steeled herself.

‘What about intimacy?’

Seb went perfectly still apart from one muscle, beating in his cheek, his eyes darkening. Daisy took another step back, reaching for the chair as support as an answering beat pounded through her body.

‘Intimacy?’ His voice was low, as if the word was forced from him. ‘That’s up to you, Daisy. We worked—’ he paused ‘—well together. It would be nice to have a full marriage. But that’s up to you.’

Worked well? Nice? She had been thinking spectacular. Could she really do this? Marry someone who substituted rules for love, discretion for affection and thought respect was the pinnacle of success?

But in the circumstances how could she not? It wasn’t as if she had an alternative plan.

Daisy swallowed, hard, a lump the size of a Kardashian engagement ring forming in her throat. This was so far from her dreams, her hopes.

‘I have a condition.’ Was that her voice? So confident?

Seb’s eyes snapped onto hers with unblinking focus. ‘Name it.’

‘We don’t tell anyone why we’re marrying like this. If we do this then we pretend. We pretend that we are head over heels ridiculously besotted. If you can do that then yes. We have a deal.’